


The Stars From Our Eyes

by iezzern



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adoption, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father-Son Relationship, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Main Character has ADHD, Mystery, Outer Space, Religious Themes, Science Fiction, Space Exploration, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2020-12-27 13:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iezzern/pseuds/iezzern
Summary: The year is 3010 After Terra, the planet is Anastasia 1 and Noah is an orphan. His own parents discarded him when he was young, and since he's lived in the Carehouse.His life is turned on its head when someone asks to adopt him-and ends up being the first out of nineteen to not send him back.But there are secrets held close to his chest, and the runners of the Carehouse seem dedicated to never let them get out...





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> WOW okay, we're finally starting this. Honestly, idk how frequent these updates will be, because I have a lot of other work, but I've found that I write much faster when at least the first chapter is up, so we'll see how quickly new chapters come out. If there's something you feel is missing from the tags or description, feel free to tell me.  
Title inspired by Florence + the Machine's "Cosmic Love"

Noah’s shoes hit the pavement hard, soles dragging. He’d already been late when he’d woken up, and it hadn’t helped him much that all the Mamas at the Carehouse had refused to drive him. No real surprise there.

He hurries through the schoolyard, fidgeting with the leather strips wrapped around his wrist. He’d found the strips out in the TaintYard; a small artefact left behind from when these organic materials actually had existed. Noah had refused to ever take them off. The others didn’t like that particularly well; said it was unfit for a child from the most prestigious Carehouses on the planet. Noah didn’t like their protests particularly well, either, and let them know so. Only for a short while, though.

He takes the stairs two at a time and tries to hide his heavy breathing as he passes the classrooms with open doors. Some teachers have even started their classes. To Noah’s luck, the teacher is just on her way in the door.

Noah ducks under his teacher’s hand, slipping into the classroom before her. One seat at the back of the classroom is empty, as usual. No surprise. Everyone has deemed it his seat now; shoved away from everyone else. He doesn’t really mind. He’d come to peace with it at this point.

He slides into his seat, sinking back and pulling his hood up. He knows the teacher won’t care; she never does. He’s not worth it. She starts taking attendance—he doesn’t answer when she calls his name. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t even write down his name. Because nobody should bother with him. Because sixteen years ago, not even his parents had decided to keep him. His parents had deserted him, and, of course, there had to be a reason. A good, good reason; so no one really wants him near. Obviously, something was wrong with him. Something so wrong that not even his parents loved him.

He knows he’s proving them all right; with his drawn-up hood, glares, and low grades. He can’t be bothered to care. They’d never given him the chance to succeed anyways. The teacher starts her lesson, and Noah has already disappeared into the world of his holo-desk. They don’t expect him to pass this class, either. They don’t see a future for him at all; so he doesn’t either.

Still, there’s a silly, boyish spirit in him, that has created the blueprints of a battleship in his files. He’s never shown it to anyone. Has no one to show it to. But he’s so proud of it. He, himself, thinks that he’s taken precautions to every single detail. The galaxy’s current battleships are good, but they’re not at their full potential. He just knows it, but no one could ever listen.

He cocks his head, stares at his print. The emergency turbines are standard, military editions, and there’s something wrong with them. They use too much power to be used in a proper emergency situation. So he pulls up a new print and starts on his new turbines. It’s his sixteenth birthday, and he’s sitting by himself, drawing a turbine for emergencies. How fun.

He was to have a meeting tomorrow, someone wanted to attempt taking him in. He knew it was hopeless, that he would be sent back again. He would have to try, though, to please the school board.

A mail popped into his files, the colour pink. An official one, then. He opened it and scanned over the page. It was about his new attempting parent. He didn’t get a name, as usual, but the general facts were there. His career-life, living residence, short biography. Noah’s eyes widened.

Military. The man was _military_. And he knew people like that. Those people who adopted him to pat themselves on the back for taking in _the troubled one_. Those people who tried to fix him and make him an acceptable part of society so that they could get praise for finally putting _that one_ in its place. They all had an image of what they wanted him to be. His room was always filled in when he arrived with them. Either to fit their image or an old one of a child of theirs. His closets were filled with their fashion choices for him. One way or another, he always got sent back. He wasn’t worth it.

The lights shut off. His holo-desk followed it. The teacher has put on a video, and with his blueprints out of the way, Noah only had to watch with the rest. It’s obvious from the start that it’s supposed to be some kind of inspirational video, to push more people into the military. It shows the pilots of the Washington XV, those who risk their lives for the safety of the people. Noah can only name a few: Matthew Gonzales, Helena Gianan, Kristina Mattheus, and, of course, James Hawking. It’s nearly impossible to not know about Hawking. He’s the man that had singlehandedly taken down a dreadnought and saved an entire space-tribe. His flying is unchallenged. Every girl and boy wanted to be him. Every girl and boy wanted to be _with_ him. Noah supposes he’s a nice guy. He doesn’t really know or care.

The video takes up the entire lesson, so when it’s finished, Noah starts on his walk home. _Home_. Just a common word. That place isn’t his home; not really. It’s a loveless, soulless place, that only acts as a holding cell for an unloved child. He doesn’t even get his own room. Has to sleep on the sofa in the common room, even if there are available rooms.

He goes straight to the bathroom, douses his face in cold water from the sink. He rubs his hands up and down a few times before he looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t even fit the typical Khione appearance. Where his hair should’ve been blonde, it is black as coal. Where his eyes should’ve been brown, they’re a bright, emerald green. Where his skin should’ve been golden and tanned, it’s pale and white.

One would have to be out of their mind to adopt _him_ of all the possible _perfect _children.

A soft knock sounds on the bathroom door. A second later, Mama Lydiah steps through the door. She’d probably used the tracker system to seek him out, which meant she needed something from him. Nobody would ever seek him out of their own choice.

“Someone’s coming to meet you tomorrow,” Mama Lydiah states, hands clasped in front of her.

“I know, I got the email,” Noah answers, going to dry his hands. Mama Lydiah’s lips are drawn into a thin line when he doesn’t turn to face her. “It could be a great deal for us,” Mama Lydiah says, “The state will pay us enough for a year if we can get a child like you off to a military official.”

Noah very nearly rolls his eyes but stops himself in the nick of time. A lesson early learned with bleeding palms. “I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Noah answers and tries to offer a confident smile. By Mama Lydiah’s grimace, it doesn’t come off quite right. It never does. Noah quickly drops the smile and lowers his head.

“You will,” Mama Lydiah says, “You don’t want him to know our little secret, do you?”

Noah’s body locks in place. His fingertips, against the cold surface of the sink, keep him from disappearing into his head. Luckily, he rarely gets these episodes these times, but when he gets them, it ruins him for days.

His mind barely starts spiralling before the coldness of the sink stopped it, but memories now echo through his mind._ Stay quiet and nobody will hate you_, Mama Lydiah’s voice says, but it doesn’t sound over the tiles because it’s in his mind and it’s bringing memories and his vision flickers and his breath shortens and…

Mama Lydiah’s hand leaves a red brand on his cheek as she slaps him. “Pull yourself together,” she says, cold and clipped, before she’s out the door again. Noah stumbles against the sink, gasping. He grips the edges until his hands stop shaking and the tears stop rolling. Then he wipes them away, rubs his hands over his thighs and walks out after her.

The halls of the Carehouse are waking now that school is over. Children screaming and chasing each other in an endless game; the older ones providing blockades and roughhousing to the youngers they catch. Noah quickly sticks himself to the wall and takes the route to one of the empty rooms. One of the older kids reaches out and shoves him off-balance, snorting when Noah crashes hard into the wall.

The pain burns through his arm but doesn’t fester and take root. It’ll quickly disappear again. Not worth worrying about. He throws himself down on the ice-cold, unused, white-sheeted bed. His fingers reach out to fiddle with the wristbands. Stupidly enough, he starts imagining the man who wants to adopt him. He wonders what his position is, what he looks like, how he’ll act.

He doesn’t allow himself to imagine kindness. Too many times has he expected kindness from them. These faceless people who turn out to be nothing more than controlling monsters.

Noah will stay here until the others are done with dinner, and then he’ll go down into the Common Room and try to imagine that the couch is comfortable.

-:-

Noah shuffles his feet over the floor, hands clasped between them. He’s sitting outside the Teacher’s Lounge, on one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs. The girl beside him sniffles and sticks her nose in the air, insulted at having to sit near him. Noah’s hands are itching, desperate to move. He’s meeting his probable new parent in a few minutes. The Principal, who Noah can’t remember the name of at the moment because he can’t think, had come and fetched him in the middle of class. No one had cared, as usual.

The girl, who has been gripping her pink skirt up until now, suddenly rises from her chair and starts pacing. Rushing air hits Noah at her sharp turns. She has her arms crossed over her chest. “So, what have you done?” she hisses at him, hostile from the start. Noah shrugs; doesn’t want to give her more motive to insult and tease him.

The door opens, then, and the Principal steps out. The girl takes a startled step back before she bows slightly and touches a knuckle to her lips in respect. “Orphan,” the Principal says, and Noah guesses that it’s only fair because he couldn’t remember his name, either, “Into my office, please”

Noah knows where to go without directions. He’s been here many times before. All for the same reason. The Principal’s hand comes up behind Noah’s back to steer him, but the man doesn’t dare touch Noah. Warmth radiates off the Principal’s hand, and it burns against Noah’s spine. He longs so for the Principal to lay his hand there—to show concern. To care. He won’t, though, Noah knows. No one would dare touch a filthy Left-Behind.

Noah takes a sharp turn to the left and walks straight towards the meeting room, doesn’t want any pitying glances and drawn out explanations that he’s already heard ten times over. He takes the three steps towards the door and takes a breath before opening it.

The meeting room is cold. Not just in temperature. The walls are a pristine white; the floor tiled black; one table and three chairs. As he sits down, Noah wonders why. Maybe they want to make the kids feel unwelcome so that they’ll work harder to get out. But Noah never bothers anymore. Better not cost the clients by taking him in for a week or two; better just stay instead of getting sent back _again and again_.

Noah starts tapping his fingers on the table surface, a bad, nervous habit he’d never been able to get rid of. The Principal sends a distasteful look at the movements, far too familiar with the sound echoing through the room. Noah’s throat tightens, and his stomach sinks. Would the client find it annoying, too? Even if he doesn’t want to be adopted, he doesn’t want to give a bad impression. It would only reflect badly on the Carehouse and this man is _military_. Noah’s anxieties skyrocket within seconds.

The Principal sits down in the chair next to Noah with a heavy sigh. He straightens out his tie and then checks his cuffs. He’s nervous, as well. Ten more taps of Noah’s fingers and then the Principal sweeps his hands of the table with a sneer. Noah wrings his hands where they now rest between his thighs.

Voices come from outside the door.

Noah’s stomach rolls and anxiety stabs in his chest.

He tries to silently steady his breathing and stop the tremors that run through his hands. He straightens his back to the point of near-hurting and in the corner of his eye, he can spot the Principal giving an appreciative nod.

The door on the other side of the room opens.

And James Hawking steps into the room.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you hadn't guessed it, Noah is a total cinnamon bun in need of protection. Honestly, Noah's character is really interesting to write because I feel like his characterization flows freely in so many directions, due to his unstable emotional side.  
And just so I mention it: NO, the slash relationship tag is not between Noah and his new adoptive parent.  
Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Noah’s eyes take in the slicked back, dark hair; the deep purple uniform with five Stars of Honour sewn into the shoulder; the badge on his broad chest that paints him as the Major of Washington XV; the air of confidence that radiates from him. And his breath catches. The room tilts to the side.

Noah’s first thought is that there’s been a mix-up. There’s no way that _James Hawking _wants to adopt him. Not him. Not the one whose parents willingly left him behind. Not the one there’s surely something wrong with; because no parent would ever leave a proper child behind.

Noah’s second thought is that Hawking is like every single other one of them. A military man who wants to prove himself. Probably strict and stuck on an expectation of perfection. And he, like all of the other ones, will send Noah back with a dismissive glance and papers for another child already signed.

Why hadn’t anyone told him? Noah starts tugging at his fraying sweater, and suddenly all the stains on his jeans stand out ten times more than before. Hawking must be regretting his decision right now. Must be noticing all of Noah’s flaws.

Noah’s eyes immediately hit the floor and his fingers start scratching at his opposite wrist without his permission. The burning sensation keeps him from completely losing control of his breath.

The Principal rises from his seat with a cough and a hand circling over his heart, a polite smile plastered on his face. Hawking isn’t meeting his gaze, though, and instead of repeating the Principal’s greeting he crosses his hands at the wrist over his chest—one of them clenched close and one folded loosely in a cupping gesture.

The Principal’s face flashes in slight disgust before he slips his smile back on. He’d never expected a military man to not be a Thesiunan, much less to express it so openly. Hawking doesn’t seem to pay attention to it, though. His eyes are fleeting over Noah; his face, his shabby clothes, his skinny arms, the scratch marks on his wrist. A hard line sets in his mouth. Noah immediately shrinks back. The Principal will never let him hear the end of it now and Noah hurries to lay his hand back on the table.

“It is pleasing to have you here for a visit,” the Principal says, as Hawking drops his hands. Hawking nods at him, gaze still cold, and moves to sit. Noah doesn’t even know what to think. Hawking’s hard eyes go to Noah and immediately soften.

“Hi,” he says, and it startles Noah that his voice, while still being rough and deep, is a type of gentle that coils around Noah’s body and relaxes it, “I’m James”

Noah’s breath leaves his lungs, so he doesn’t answer at first. He’s just able to stare at Hawking’s kind expression with an open mouth. He’s well-aware of the tears that are resting in the edges of his eyes—and how they must appear to Hawking. The Principal sits down with a tired sigh.

“N—Noah, sir,” he manages and wonders if he should reach out to shake Hawking’s hand, but Hawking decides that for him when he grabs onto Noah’s hand and holds it tight. The Principal’s eyes widen, and Noah nearly jerks his hand back in shock.

“Hi, Noah,” Hawking says, smiling softly, “You don’t need to call me “sir”, James is enough”

Noah clears his throat and nods, unsure of how to proceed. The Principal spares him the bother, though. “Ser Hawking, I must apologize, but Noah is not exactly what you would call a preferable child. I must inform you we have a far more proper one just outside, Callia…” “No need to inform me, Sir,” Hawking quickly assesses with a raised hand, “I trust you to not doubt my decision-making. As a leader to another”

The Principal turns red, stuttering out a few half-finished sentences. Amongst them is a whispered “Bloody Terreans”, which makes Hawking’s eyes narrow slightly. Noah, who had shrunk back during the Principal’s opening statement, is now staring at Hawking, desperately and stupidly hopeful. Hawking had _chosen him_. Over anyone else. Over better alternatives.

Noah opens his mouth, but he can’t find anything to say. Usually, he’s supposed to be in agreement with the Principal. He’s supposed to list all his bad factors in a rude manner and tell them that he wasn’t worth it. Because the House won’t let any proper family suffer through raising an abandoned orphan.

Hawking’s eyes immediately shift to Noah at the slight movement and turn softer within seconds. “How are you feeling, kid?” he asks while lowering his raised hand to join his other one, effectively cradling Noah’s much smaller one between them, “You look tired”

His voice takes a questioning edge at the end and Noah instantly feels scrutinized. The man has picked up so much about Noah in just a few minutes and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

What should he tell him? That he doesn’t get any sleep because the couch is too hard? That they often hold him up doing things all night? That he, more than once, has collapsed in exhaustion?

He can’t. He knows he can’t.

“Was just excited for today,” Noah murmurs, keeping watch on the Principal out of the corner of his eye. Hawking frowns, as if he can sense that it’s a lie. He turns over Noah’s hand and starts tracing the lines.

The Principal’s eyes follow the movements. Noah swallows and keeps his body from shaking. Hawking doesn’t talk for a while, just keeps touching Noah’s palm. Then he sighs deeply. “I don’t know what I can promise you, Noah,” he finally says, “I can never be your true parent, I know, but I want to try and create the best possible life you can have. If you would let me”

Noah sits speechless yet again. The Principal, too. Then the man’s eyes fleet to Noah, a stern order in them. Noah knows what to do. He needs to push Hawking away—make a bad first impression. But there’s the want there, for Hawking to like him and take him in.

But that can’t happen. So Noah opens his mouth and says “You’re incredibly selfish to think that you can make my life better”

His voice wavered in the middle and was a bit thin, but Noah thinks he did good. By the way the Principal leans back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, it was. Hawking, to Noah’s big surprise, looks hurt for a small second before his face falls into a calm mask.

“You’re right,” he says, and Noah can hear the Principal choke beside him, “I _am_ selfish. Beyond belief. Let me tell you, I’m not just doing this for you, Noah, I’m doing this for _me_, too. I’ve lost myself, in a way, can’t explain how; but I have. I think…I think you will give me something to fight for. And I think I need that. I _need_ to fight for you to get a good life.”

This guy just won’t let up. Noah looks into Hawking’s pleading and earnest eyes and can’t help himself. He wants. He wants so _badly_. So bad that he now is close to crying. And for one small moment he imagines he isn’t within the grasp of the Mamas and their system; isn’t an unwantable, abandoned orphan; isn’t a disappointment to all.

One small moment is all it takes.

“I think I would like that,” he mutters, quietly.

Noah’s heart starts beating rapidly when Hawking breaks into a brilliant smile and his grip on Noah’s hands tightens. The Principal’s hand lands on Noah’s shoulder and grips tightly on, a warning. Noah’s thrown their entire system in chaos now, without even meaning to.

But it doesn’t matter if he explains now or if he apologizes a thousand times over. “Major, I must warn you…,” the Principal starts, but Noah drowns it out entirely because Hawking’s smile hasn’t slipped at all. In fact, it had only widened. Noah feels himself smile back and can’t remember the last time he smiled like this.

“_Major_,” the Principal repeats, exasperated, “There are _pages_ of couples who have sent the Left-Behind _back_, without a single regret…”

“Excuse me—Left-Behind?” Hawking’s voice has taken that hard edge again and he moves one of his hands up to grip Noah’s elbow. The Principal looks taken aback for a moment before he nervously clears his throat. “It’s just a nickname,” he says, and Noah can see the sweat beading on his forehead, “It’s not exactly a crime to call an orphan an orphan is it?”

His laugh is as uncomfortable as one can get it. Especially when Hawking doesn’t laugh back. He just eyes the man for a moment before turning back to Noah and offers a small, apologetic smile. Noah smiles back, shyly.

“What colours would you want your walls to be?” Hawking asks suddenly, talking over the Principal’s stuttering attempts to start a conversation. Noah startles, before stuttering a “Huh?”

“Your walls,” Hawking repeats, seemingly amused, “If you would wish to move in with me after this meeting, what colour would you like your walls to be?”

Noah blinks. What a man. There seems to be absolutely no hint of mockery or joking there, just an earnest Hawking trying to reach out. “W—Well,” he starts, awkwardly, “I like black and, you know, purple, but more…pale”

Hawking nods with a soft smile and a pat to Noah’s cheek. Noah blushes and averts his eyes to stare at the table.

“It’s decided, then,” Hawking says, “Give the papers here”

Both the Principal and Noah are completely dumbstruck. Normally, they held up longer than this. Normally, they grasped at their chest and nodded solemnly when the Principal informed them of Noah’s faults. Normally, they never even spoke to him.

Noah thinks he likes Hawking better. No, he probably _knows_ so. He feels lighter than he ever has. _Happier_, a traitorous voice in his head says, _hopeful_. Noah feels that’s the best way to describe what is now soaring in his chest. Hawking has finally made him, the broken and left-behind, hopeful of happiness.

The Principal tries to stabilize the conversation with a glare meant to put Noah in place and a helpless, “I don’t think Noah…”

“I want to try,” Noah quickly breathes, “Please, Mr Ha—James”

The Principal’s glare deepens and his fingers twitch. Noah knows that there will be hell to pay when Hawking has left, but he can’t bring himself to care. All he cares about now is Hawking’s joyful smile and the way his own heart thundering away in his chest.

The ugliness that has reared its head so many times has dusted away into nothing. For once, he knows that he’s right. That he has a chance to be normal, to be _wanted_. And it is a surprisingly freeing thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment (kudos are also appreciated) and come with some suggestions or predictions for the story further!  
Also, if you were wondering, Noah's ADHD is totally based on my own experiences with ADHD and how I was affected by them. I know that James seems a little bit like a knight in white armour right now, but I'll try to flesh him out more throughout the story!  
See you in the next chapter, which I think is gonna be a lot longer, to say the least...


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're here again!  
Honestly I can see how James can come off as very white-night-y in this chapter, but tbh it's all part of the worldbuilding.  
Potential Trigger Warning: Noah has some kind of anxiety attack connected to his ADHD and the following overstimulation. You have been warned  
Enjoy!

Two days. That’s how many days Noah has to endure in the House before he can move in with James. They seem to last an eternity. Noah can only walk around like a ghost, chewing at his fingers and smiling secretively to himself. He doesn’t react to teasing words or spiteful pushes, neither the short glances the teachers and Mamas give him. His mind and hope are soaring among the stars and spaceships; with Hawking.

His new parent.

His father.

Noah doesn’t allow the thought to live more than a few seconds at a time. It seems like a forbidden word. Something precious and fragile that will break under Noah’s clumsy attempts at handling it.

Most of the time he’s daydreaming his time away, laying on his back in the field behind the Carehouse. He’s too skittish and easily distracted to really do anything else.

His peacetime, however, is interrupted by Mama Lydiah storming through the flowers. The jingle of the keychain gives her away. “Noah,” she calls briskly, “Come here”

Noah can’t do anything but obey. He barely has time to rise before Mama Lydiah’s hand wraps around his wrist. “What have you _done_?” she hisses, “Do you really believe you can get away with this?”

Noah swallows the lump in his throat and puts some distance between the two of them. “James likes me,” he mutters, eyes down, “He said he wanted to take care of me”

Mama Lydiah huffs, fingernails digging into his wrist. “It won’t last, Noah,” she says, voice falling warm and caring, “You know no one _really_ thinks that; even his false beliefs will fall to the truth. Remember all the others”

Noah nods, tears burning in his eyes. It was true that all the others had acted like they cared, as well. They’d smiled and held his hand. They’d told him it would get better. They’d told him they cared. A tear escapes down his cheek.

Mama Lydiah’s hand comes out and wipes it away. “It’s better if you come back to us,” she comforts, “Just make him angry enough to send you back, and you can make everything right again.”

Noah nods, mind racing to make a plan. Hawking’s position would obviously be important to him, so Noah has to do something to insult it. Noah knows, though, that isn’t enough. So, Noah’ll have to ruin it for him. attempt to destroy his career. Make up some lies and tell them. It’s something he’s never done before. But if Mama Lydiah is asking him to…

He’ll have to. Because James will realize his mistake instantly when Noah finally moves in. Because Noah won’t ever belong anywhere but in the House. Because he’s always been left behind and unwanted.

“You know you can’t get away,” Mama Lydiah cuts in, “We’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you here in the hands of the Universe, Noah, don’t pretend anything else”

And Noah’s head snaps up, mind clearing of Mama Lydiah’s thoughts and words. James had said he’d _fight_ for him. For his happiness. He’d probably been lying, yes, but there’s a small part of Noah that hopes—hopes desperately. And James had looked so ferocious while saying it. Much more ferocious that Mama Lydiah looks now.

Noah has no doubt that if the Mamas, or even higher authority, tried to take Noah away—create a way to take Noah back—James would fight. He would ensure that Noah would be safe; happy.

There’s no reason Noah should believe James so immensely, but, for once, he feels ready to give himself a chance.

“Noah, do you promise to come back?” Mama Lydiah asks, still that care in her voice. A lie, Noah knows. Not that he hadn’t been aware of it before, only he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Mama Lydiah doesn’t care about his wellbeing, she just cares about keeping the filthy Left-Behind out of civilized society.

“Yes, of course,” Noah answers and feels his throat burn with the lie.

Mama Lydiah’s fake smile is to vomit of.

-:-

Noah catches himself smiling for maybe the twentieth time that day, sitting at the back of the class and tapping his pen against the desk. The last day had been spent wandering around aimlessly in the Carehouse and braiding a pile of leather bracelets, his body doing mindless work to accommodate for his restlessness. Mama Lydiah had been hovering over him, always there with a careful eye, so he’d been careful to not seem too excited.

A hand knocks at the back of his head, pain blossoming in its wake. Noah curls in on himself as much as possible, trying not to meet the eyes of the girl that passes.

Callia. The girl from the Principal’s office.

She turns her head and glares at him at she steps up to the teacher’s desk.

That is going to be a problem, Noah knows, because by doing this she has pulled the entire class’s attention to him. Made him an enemy. He’s done something to either humiliate or hurt Callia, and he’ll probably pay now.

He was right, he finds out, as soon as the free period starts. A girl grabs onto his jacket and shoves him as she walks past him in the hallway. Noah stumbles into a locker and stays still there. when he doesn’t hear her come close again or throw out a comment, he withdraws and quickly sets course for the doors.

Avoid eye-contact. Avoid any possible shoulders to crash into. Avoid catching attention. Unless he wants to hurt. It’s something he learned himself from early on—when he still had the silly, childish hope of making friends. It won’t get any different now, even if Hawking has adopted him. Because he will always be a left-behind. Unwanted. Proof that the Universe has its ways and rules. His place hasn’t changed to anyone but himself.

And still, he can’t keep himself from smiling. He’s moving in with James today. James is _officially _becoming his father. His guardian. His. The pure knowledge of it is enough to trigger a euphoric feeling in Noah’s chest. He can’t wait.

So when the bell rings the school day finished, Noah bounces up from his seat with vigour. The Teacher sends him a surprised look but does thankfully not hold him back for questioning.

Noah skips down the many stairs, trying his best to not accidentally bump into any other students. Some of the people he passes scoff and stare after him. “What’s got the Left-Behind so excited?” one of the girls whispers to her friends.

Noah pushes the main doors open, unexpectedly being the first one out, and hurries down the stairs to the yard. He skids to a stop there, chest heaving. The wind sweeps over his heated cheeks and rustles leaves over the ground.

Triumph and joy soar through Noah’s body and jumpstarts his heart over and over. James Hawking is standing there, his uniform smooth over his chest, with a wide smile on his mouth. It brightens when James catches sight of Noah. He is standing in front of an expensive-looking car that is drawing looks from the passing parents.

“Noah!” he calls, throwing a hand up. Murmurs come from behind Noah and his cheeks heat up—both from having James acknowledge him so openly and the whisperings behind him.

Noah quickly makes his way over to James, glancing to his sides. Without really meaning to, he shifts his hands up to hug around his own waist, stroking up and down in a mockery of comfort. It eases some of the pressure that had started to appear around his brain and makes the world around him less blurry.

“Hey, champ,” James says as Noah comes closer and for an awkward second his arms are spreading for a hug before he hesitantly reaches out and pats Noah on the back. He’d had done the exact same thing after the meeting, as well. Overly cautious and mindful of Noah’s non-existent fear.

“Hi,” Noah nearly whispers, brushing his fingers against James’s jacket. James smiles at him softly again, why, Noah doesn’t know, and gestures towards his car which looks more expensive than everything Noah owns combined. “I was thinking we’d go…”

“Excuse me, Major Hawking!”

The teacher from Noah’s last class is on her way down the stairs, her high heels clicking against the concrete. Her back is set in a straight, proud position and her smile is a practised mask of concern. Noah’s stomach sinks.

Hawking looks annoyed for a small second before he crosses his hands in greeting and smiles. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he says smoothly and evenly.

“Just wanted to make sure that you are final in your decision, Major Hawking,” she says, folding her hands over her stomach. “Are you sure you made the right choice?”

“I’m not sure I follow,” James answers, “What choice?”

Every last shard of happiness that had been in Noah’s heart disappears. Nobody seems to think he deserves anything. The teacher is going to twist James’ mind and then James is going to give him back to the home, because _who am I kidding, nobody could want someone like me_.

And James is going to be recommended another kid from the home. Someone with good grades. Someone who follows orders. Someone who fits into James’ life. Someone who is wanted. The kids around them have already started to snicker.

Noah is yanked out of his train of thought by James resting his hand on his back. Slowly, Noah is moved to James’ side, the man insistent on where he wants him.

“We have more…_proper_ children to offer you, sir,” the teacher starts, and Noah is near tears again, “younger ones, too, who won’t cause you problems. Noah is a bit of a…nobody, you could say, and we don’t want you to struggle…”

James holds up his hand in a motion for her to stop. Noah tries to not let his fear show, but it’s difficult. James has decided now, and Noah can already imagine himself walking through the doors of the home again.

He glances up at James, expecting to find understanding or disappointment, but all he sees is pure, dark anger. “What do you take me for?” he asks, his voice as hard as steel. It seems like the teacher is shocked by it, as well, because she blinks at James. “E-Excuse me?”

“I will struggle as much as I have to for Noah,” James says, clipped, “Anything less would be shameful of me”

The teacher stills, eyes blinking. Noah is sure they feel the exact same way, right now. Unending astonishment. Utter shock. Disbelief. James’s hand is tight across Noah’s back. It’s a possessive action. He’s not prepared to let Noah go. Noah sucks in a breath and makes a quick decision to twist his fingers into the side of James’s jacket. A shadow of a smile fleets over James’s lips.

The teacher finally regains her composure and forms a pleasant smile. “If you’re displeased,” She says sweetly, “You know where to return it”

James snorts and turns both himself and Noah back to the car. “So I was thinking we could go shop for some furniture,” James says, ignoring the teacher’s desperate attempts to end the conversation on a good note, “I get the feel you want to decide a little over your own room, yes?”

He opens the passenger door, signalling for Noah to get in. Noah glances behind him for a second, before he smiles shyly up at James and slips in.

-:-

James takes him to a part of town that Noah has never seen before. Shining, white stonepaths; tall, window-covered buildings; large, lush gardens and parks. James practices the roads as a second language, while also pointing out the most important things to Noah.

Noah tries desperately to keep up with him, but his head is buzzing with colours and overwhelming structures. It’ so bright here; so different from Noah’s neighbourhood. “That’s where I work most of the time,” James says and points at a large, marble building—risen up above the rest of the city, “When we aren’t on explorations.”

Noah’s mind immediately snaps to a thought and he halfway curls in on himself; the lights seem to dim slightly. “Do you go on explorations often?” he asks in a rush of breath, hand gripping onto his own thigh so tightly that he can feel his nails digging into his own palm through the fabric. James is silent for a long time.

“Of course, Noah,” he answers, moving his eyes off the road for a second, “There’s still so much to be done; so much to discover. But the last exploration was only a few months ago, so I won’t be going away anytime soon.”

Noah nods, swallows, and doesn’t allow himself to feel the relief that had started to bloom in his chest. He’d known. He’d known immediately what Noah was worried about. Noah leans back in his chair and lets his body relax. He nods and says “Okay”

The trip through the different stores goes fast. Noah has an understanding of the most basic things he needs—where he just points at the cheapest thing available. “You can spoil yourself a little today,” James informs him, and from then on Noah gets a little more creative with his choices.

James commissions all the things to be transported immediately, not willing to let Noah have an empty room for the night. Noah appreciates it, this kindness he’s been shown, but his mind has started to get messy. Out of order. Endless hours with chatter and other people running into him, and James getting stuck in conversation with important people.

His skin starts to itch, the weight of his hoodie too heavy on his shoulders and his toes start wriggling in his shoes. And suddenly he feels _dirty_. Like his skin is covered in layers of grease and even the air around him is becoming polluted by him. His body starts to feel jittery. This is bad.

James says they’re going to get some small decorations and Noah nods, instantly forgetting what he’d said. James’s eyes fleet over Noah’s face for a second before he nods and leads Noah to some other store. Noah isn’t able to snap up the name of it.

There’s a flashlight on sale outside the store “20% OFF”; the shelves are stuffed with things and there’s a bright colour in the corner of his eye and he turns to watch it but then there’s suddenly a shout from the other side of the store and annoyance sparks in Noah and then his fingers start tapping against his thigh, against his own wishes, and someone is talking to her mother about the prices of the apple pies at the market and there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on Noah’s skin and…

Something cold is pressed into his hand. A clay-like substance that moulds quickly, smoothly beneath his fingers. Exhaustion and pressure evaporate. Breathing isn’t a chore anymore. Noah moves so he can fidget with the clay with both hands, twisting and forming it over and over. It’s still attached to some kind of device that declares it an unbought product. After some time, the sounds around him aren’t so intense anymore, just dead background noise.

He’s slowly moved to a silent corner of the store and warm hands hold onto his shoulders. Eventually, he looks up into James’s kind eyes and releases a shuddering breath. His head collapses forwards, resting on James’s chest. “Too much?” James finally asks, in that deep voice of his. Noah’s body slumps even more when he hears it. He nods.

His mind is still reeling with the concept of James seeing him like this; so out of it and so weak. A complete mess. Noah’s mind goes through and files all the possible thoughts James could be having right now and then jumps into creating strategies for when James voices those thoughts.

“I figured,” James murmurs, “How about we go buy some more stuff to help you with this, hm? Can’t be fun having these things happen all the time.”

Noah scrambles over things he can reply—things that’ll calm James down or shift the attention away from Noah’s little freakout. He can’t handle anything more right now, because the noises are getting louder again, nipping at his neck. “No?” James immediately says, “That’s okay, too. We can just pay for this and then we’ll head home, how about that?”

Noah tries to ignore the word “home”, and nods instead. James claps one of his shoulders and then wraps an arm around him to steer him towards the cash register. James buys it without Noah protesting at all. They make it to the car quickly, only stopping a few times for James to excuse himself from colleagues and so-called friends.

James helps him into his seat first and then gets in. James slamming his door close marks a stop for the noises invading Noah’s body. It is completely silent inside the car, the static of it enough to lighten the pressure in Noah’s aching chest. James lets him sit in the quiet for as long as he wants, which ends up being as much as fifteen minutes.

“Sorry,” Noah finally manages, his voice rough. Now, exhausting is taking root in his bones, drawing the body with it to sink heavily into the seat. He hopes James will be softer in reprimanding him than Mama Lydiah. It hurt whenever she stood for his punishment for acting out of line.

“Nothing to be sorry for, kid,” James murmured softly, brushing Noah’s hair away from his forehead, and letting it rest atop. Noah can’t stop the soft noise from escaping his mouth and presses into the hold. James makes a similar noise in response, and suddenly they’re making weird, funny noises at each other with barely-contained smiles. It ends with Noah bending over with a laugh.

There are tears pressing on his eyes and his skin feels incredibly warm. Not the uncomfortable kind, that scorches his insides and leaves his throat burning, but the soft, dormant kind that is like a blanket rubbing up against his cheek.

“I’ll order some Martian take-out on the way back, and we’ll just relax at home, yeah?” James says.

Noah, again, feels a spark of desperate _need_ when James says “home”. Home has never meant anything to him, really, just an idealization of what he could have had if he hadn’t been disappointing enough for his parents to abandon. Some sort of fever dream; unattainable and unreal.

“I like Martian,” Noah says absentmindedly, eyes growing heavy, fingers playing over his thigh. James nods, smiling slightly.

“Just sleep, if you want,” he says, “I’ll wake you up when we arrive”

Noah barely manages to nod before his head lands against the warmed glass window. In the background, James is humming some old, soft tune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit slow-moving, especially when we wanna see space travels and stuff, but be warned: This story is a more emotional focused one; sci-fi is only the backdrop.  
Please leave a comment and kudos!


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You shouldn't drag their time on-planet out," I say to myself as I drag their time on the planet out.  
Also, crying is apparently a big thing for me in this story idk why...  
Anyways I hope you'll find at least some joy in this chapter, my loves!

Noah jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder to rip him out of his deep sleep.

“Sorry,” James whispers, “You were pretty knocked out and I didn’t want to raise my voice”

Noah nods and doesn’t have the heart to tell James that he isn’t scared of raised voices. It only brings him the knowing feeling of doing something wrong. And he’s so used to it that it doesn’t matter anymore. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and yawns, unbuckling his belt to step out of the car.

James is out of the car and by Noah’s side to help him out within seconds. He reaches out one hand to steady Noah, the other one balancing the food. It looks easily to Noah as if the man’s over-compensating, but he won’t say anything, because then he might stop.

Noah’s body is surprisingly heavy with sleep, feet dragging and eyes drooping. He leans halfway onto James’s shoulder, blinking up at where they’re walking. A house, closely placed between two others, looms over them. The lights are off, so Noah can’t glimpse anything inside, but it’s such a standout to its neighbours—a dark, brown wood between pristine, white concrete. It is a classical Anastasia fashion, as the colonizers first built their houses when they came to the planet.

Generally, they were quite outdated; primitive in comparison to modern houses—but Noah had the feeling a Major would be able to change it however he wanted, easily. Outdoor lanterns light up when they take the stoned path up to the door, and a robotic voice welcomes James home.

“Military standard,” James explains when Noah sends him a quizzical look, “Safety Intelligence, they tell me. Personally, I think they’re just scared we’ll act out of line”

There were a lot of implications there that Noah’s brain isn’t ready to unpack just yet.

He consciously buts himself behind James as they enter the house, fingers clinging to his stiff jacket. It’s disorienting—a new place like this, with its own rules and troubles. Noah doesn’t want to bother James much, especially not after the episode in the store.

He quickly shrugs off his jacket and takes off his shoes, not wanting to lose James who has already started walking inside. “Kitchen’s to the left; Living Room and bathroom to the right; your bedroom’s up the stairs and to the left,” James says efficiently, pointing in general directions. The small structure of it is enough to add some calmness to Noah’s brain.

He has a small twinge of suspicion that James has dealt with someone like this before. Maybe some unfavoured soul they’d discovered while out on explorations. The idea explodes in his head.

That’s it.

He’s just as bad as an unfavoured one. Primitive and improper. God, what must James think of him? And still, those thoughts are muted—buried beneath the warm feeling of James pressing his palm to the back of his neck.

“You alright?” he asks, quietly, when Noah finally glances up at him, “You were spacing”

Noah doesn’t know what spacing is, but he doesn’t want James to know about what he was thinking, because he was thinking bad thoughts about James and James has been too nice for him to think bad thoughts and he should’ve shown more respect and…

James’ fingers snap in front of his face and jerks Noah out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, looks like you were a bit lost,” James offers, and Noah takes a deep breath before nodding, even if James hadn’t asked a question. James carefully sits Noah down on the sofa before he turns to get something from the kitchen.

Noah sits wringing his hands the entire time. When James comes back, he places two plates on the table in front of them and sits down a small distance away from Noah, looking hesitant. “You’re not really used to so much mess, huh?” he finally asks, leaning forward to grab some food.

Noah’s cheeks heat up. “N-No, not really,” he answers, picking at some of the food James shuffled onto his plate. It was much quieter in the Carehouse. Almost…better. Mama Lydiah’s words burrow into his mind and start to fester. Perhaps it would be better if he went back. For both him and James.

But James is wearing such a hopeful smile and Noah instantly knows that breaking James’s illusion of him now would break his heart more than free it. So he leans back in the sofa, pulls his feet up under himself and offers a smile.

“It isn’t all that bad,” he says, allowing himself to appreciate the warm tastes that land on his tongue with each bite, “Sometimes it was halfway maddening in that place”

His mouth had run ahead of him again. He’d badmouthed the Carehouse; without even a second thought. Mama Lydiah will be furious. She’ll scream and throw things, reminding Noah of his place in her world. James isn’t like that. James wouldn’t hit him for saying something like that, would he?

“Yeah, I agree,” James answers as his body relaxes in relief against the pillows, “From what little I saw of it, anyway”

Noah nods, wondering if this truly is the most awkward conversation he’s ever had. He shifts again, hoodie riding up his arm. James catches sight of the leather bands on his wrist.

“Where’d you get those?” he asks, more inquiring than accusatory. Noah hesitates before telling the truth. There’s no point in lying about it. The conversation goes naturally from there, only hitching in some small places.

“D’you wanna pack out and set up your room right away?” James asks as he carries the leftovers into the kitchen, “Or is that too much?”

“Not really,” Noah responds, standing to the side and picking at the side of his pants, “Would be fine to just get it out of the way”

James nods. “This way, then”

The walk upstairs is muted, calm. Noah’s eyes droop with an exhaustive feeling that usually comes after a well-done meal or a long cry. Noah doesn’t know what to do with the feeling. If he should resent it or take it into his heart.

The upstairs has the same, plain colour scheme as downstairs and it scares Noah a little bit. Apart from the many standout points, James can fall into the “wants-a-puppet-to-control” group, and Noah doesn’t know where that places him in James’ world. And if everything is truly going to be so bland, so lacking of colour, Noah won’t be able to shake off the feeling of being a malleable doll for James.

They turn to the left, and there the door is. Noah’s room. His stomach is rolling and swooping, a pinching feeling that shouldn’t make Noah as uncomfortable as it does. James shoves open the door and steps aside, letting Noah take the first look. He does, however, let out a pleased noise at what he sees inside.

Noah’s stomach does flips.

He carefully steps past James and into the room and stops dead in his tracks. Before he knows it, there are tears streaming down his cheeks. Colours. Such beautiful colours. The entire wall opposite to him is a window, letting Noah look down upon the river across the street that is glowing with underwater lights. Two walls are black. One purple. A pale purple. Various boxes and parcels are littered throughout the room. Noah’s stuff. _His _stuff.

“Y’know, I take things to heart,” James says light-heartedly from behind him, oblivious to the tears. Noah nods, trying to keep his shoulders from shaking. He can’t break this man’s heart. He just can’t.

He clenches and unclenches his fists. The tears are uncontrollable at this point. Happiness and loneliness battling inside him with swords and raised voices. Noah hiccups out a sob once. That cold clay is out of his pocket and in his hand in seconds.

Noah looks over his shoulder, scared, but only finds patience in the lines of James’s face. The man glances down to Noah’s hand, that had frozen still, and nods. Noah’s fingers start fiddling again. James hums. He’s seen the tears in Noah’s eyes already.

“Thank you,” Noah mutters, “_Thank you so much_”

James just shrugs, as if it’s a given. Noah knows so well that it isn’t.

There’s a certain feeling that evolves when you’re granted a privilege. First, you’re in shock—stunned. The unbelief that you can achieve something to take for granted. You’re unsure of what to do with it; how to waste it.

Afterwards comes the doubt. The crippling wave of insecurity that leaves a hollow shell of _why me why me why me?_ It must be wrong. A misstep. You don’t deserve it. It fills your mouth and your heart—and they work overtime to echo it again and again and again and _again_.

Then, you overspend. Throw your privilege around you in masses, so others can share it with you. You spend and spend, drugged on the feeling of finally being able to. You don’t even realize, even when your fingers brush the bottom of your pockets, collecting dust rather than gold.

In the aftermath of your eventual crash and burn, there’s numbness. The ash of long gone and inevitable fires lined down your hands. A thickness around your eyes; the small memory of damp tears there. Your heart, ripped out, laying in front of you and still beating weakly.

Noah feels himself hurtling towards the second point at a concerning speed. It isn’t a good feeling.

He wipes his tears quickly and lays his hands on one of the parcels. “Would you help me?” he mutters, throat thick.

James comes and kneels down next to him in answer. They work as quickly as they can, slowing down on some parts because of Noah’s inexperience. It’s impossible to not feel stupid when James has to show him how to properly put together a chair.

The sky turns darker and darker outside and soon enough the room looks less empty than before. Of course, it’s the most basic of rooms, but even _that _is better than the sofa back at the Carehouse. But _no,_ they only made him sleep on the sofa so he would learn not to misbehave, and those other rooms should be available for other kids. It’s surprising to Noah—how fast his thoughts have turned on his caretakers.

Noah sinks down on the bedside, blinking and looking slowly over the room. He lets himself collapse backwards and feels the smooth, soft bedding rub against his cheek. “You go to sleep, Noah,” James hums, “I think you deserve it”

Noah just nods, already curling in on himself. He hears the door open and close again. An indescribable calm washes over him and, even when he’s aware that he probably needs to change and get ready for bed, he lets himself slip into sleep’s warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment or kudos if you liked this chapter! Kudos to you for reading!


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and DAMN we're back again! Long time, no see... Let's see if I can rekindle my love for writing and finish/continue this story. Hope you like this chapter!

Noah wakes up to a voice outside his door. He’s wrapped himself tightly in the blankets and now his jacket is scrunched uncomfortably beneath them. Noah arches his body in a stretch before untangling the sheets.

“Yes, I know, Dory, but I can’t just…” James says before being obviously cut off. Noah shudders. It’s not everyone who can shut James Hawking up. “Can’t you try to find any last-time forms? You know the ones Pippa whipped up—” A considerable pause “—I know, that’s why I asked _you_ and not the Captain…I wasn’t _yelling_—okay, okay I’m sorry. Thank you”

Noah turns over and wraps the sheets tighter around himself when there comes a knock at the door. “Noah, bud, you up?” his voice follows, and Noah has to swallow once before answering. “A little”

James chuckles and waits a few seconds before he opens the door and steps into the room. His hair is messy—as if he’s run his hand through it for hours. Noah glances over at the clock. 11:30. James has probably been up for a while, so the theory isn’t completely stupid. The only remaining question is _why_ he’s run his hand through his hair for hours.

“Who’s Dory?” Noah asks, too curious to mind his mouth. James looks halfway surprised-halfway angry for a split second before he chuckles. “Colleague,” he answers, “We’re in the same base crew”

Same base crew. Same allegiance under the same roof. Someone James had spent most of his life with. Someone who undoubtedly knows him better than Noah ever will. It shouldn’t terrify Noah as much as it does.

“Your Caretakers want us to meet up,” James says, “For a check-up”

All Noah can hear is _you did something wrong_. All he can focus on is _I’m sending you back_. all he can imagine is Mama Lydiah’s smile as he comes with his packed bags. Panicked breaths fight their way up his throat, and he has to force away the urge to double over and vomit. He tightens his fists and smiles.

He declines James’s offer of food. Can’t handle it right now. Just gets dressed and walks obediently, quietly, in a small attempt to make James see that he can be _good_. He can do whatever James wants him to. He’ll be a good child. Because he’s changed his opinion now and he wants James to _keep him_.

James’s hand is warm on his neck when they walk up to the Carehouse. Heavy. Deafening. Noah is close to shaking. His brain is screaming at him to turn around and run as quickly as his feet are willing to, but James’s hand silences it. “Calm down,” he murmurs, and it sends Noah into panic.

Mama Justice’s face is visible from within the Carehouse—and there’s a smirk on her face. The expression she usually has when she’s won before the children even know it. Noah can only hold her gaze for a few moments before he loses. There’re only a few reasons she would make sure Noah saw her.

Hawking is giving him back.

It is Mama Lydiah who welcomes them in. She is wearing that smirk, as well. Noah is so desperate that he starts to cling to Hawking’s arm. Hawking glances back with a fond smile and pats Noah’s hand with his free one. Noah’s heart sings because Hawking likes him enough to smile at something like that and that means he probably won’t send him away and only if Noah can act proper for _one second_ Hawking will be pleased and…

Noah hides his face in the fabric of Hawking’s overcoat and tries to breathe in deeply. Won’t panic. Won’t give Hawking a reason. The action only makes Hawking’s smile widen.

“Please, follow me,” Mama Lydiah’s curt, displeased voice cuts in. Hawking hums in agreement and tugs on Noah. No sign of wanting Noah to let go. But that could just be Hawking trying to be nice.

They end up in a room so very similar to the one the day Hawking decided to adopt him. Only, now Noah is sitting on the same side as Hawking. He keeps his grip tight on Hawing’s arm, eyes fleeting over the two women on the other side of the table. Mama Lydiah and Mama Justice. He doesn’t know what they’ll say or demand, because Noah has thrown off their rhythm.

Mama Justice places two forms on the table and Noah swallows the lump in his throat. Hawking brushes them aside and supports his elbow on the surface. “I don’t think I am in single numbers when I say this arrangement has worked wonders for both of us”

There is no surprise in it. Noah doesn’t even flinch with it. Just a small, smouldering warmth in his stomach that tells him _familiarity_. Because this is just what he’d expect from James. Pure, unwavering support. Nothing less. Nothing more. Even through all the panic, he’d really known. There’d be no way James would leave him to go back to this place.

No. Way.

“Sir, we are a bit concerned with…recent developments,” Mama Justice says, leaving the sentence on an awkward note to stare at James. Noah’s seen her do it before. She tries to make them as uncomfortable as possible to get them out quickly. That’s how she wins.

James, however, just smiles that usual brilliant smile of his. “No need to be, it has been sorted,” he says smoothly and taps his fingers against the table. Noah glances at him, unsure of where this is going. James is being unusually nervous.

Mama Lydiah looks taken aback for a small moment, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly. “I’m not sure you understand what it entails, sir,” she says, voice hard, “We were already concerned with your…position, but now it’s been raised to another level. You cannot expect us to accept this.”

James’s smile slips a small fraction, bringing forth a coldness. “I am not expecting anything of you, I’m just telling you what is going to happen,” he says and moves his arm so that Noah slips closer to him, “I don’t know how much authority you think you have over this, but, in the end, it’s Noah’s choice”

_A choice about what?_ Noah wants to ask, but keeps it locked inside. It’s already a tender situation; better not make it worse. And he wants to stay with James and if making a choice about something he knows nothing about is the way to stay with James, then he’ll do it.

“Exactly,” Mama Lydiah says in that sickly-sweet voice of hers, “That’s why we want to hear personally from Noah what he thinks about this”

She sends Noah a knowing look, silently ordering him to follow orders. This is it. The choice. Noah is close to throwing up. He looks at Mama Lydiah’s sharp nails; Mama Justice’s loveless smile; and then at James’s unsure expression. His decision is made in a second. “I wanna stay with James,” he says, quickly and quietly.

The unpleasant looks on their faces has never been more satisfying,

Still, there’s that nagging at the back of his thoughts. What _position_ was James in? Why had it suddenly gotten worse? Why hasn’t Noah gotten any information about it? His mind desperately and aimlessly loosens theories about James—who he is; what he could want.

If there was anything too bad, it would’ve been on the news, wouldn’t it? Some kind of information. And it can’t be too bad, since the Carehouse won’t intervene. And they could be biased, Noah’s mind reasons. James hasn’t exactly been secretive about his religion—his Terrean beliefs. _Anyone_ from Khione would hate him just for that. But Noah can forgive his false beliefs—only because James has been so undoubtedly kind.

“I think it’s settled, then,” James smiles.

Noah can’t bring himself to ask. Even when they’re on their own, away from the Carehouse and preying eyes, Noah can’t force himself to get the words past his lips. Somehow, it seems intrusive—something Noah _shouldn’t _know about. Whoever this Dory is and whatever they have to do with whatever’s happening…it seems private to James.

James rubs his face a few times when they’ve finally reached his house again, and slumps back in his seat. Then he sighs and gives Noah a tired smile. “I’d say that went better than expected”. Noah is still reeling from the knowledge of a secret, that he can just nod along, mouth having decided not to function.

“Seems to have tired you out quite a bit, huh, bud?” James says softly and lays his wondrously cold palm against Noah’s forehead. Now it’s Noah’s time to sigh, a faint smile on his lips. Noah makes a sound that is meant to signify that it feels good. And he’s worried that James won’t understand it, but the man nods reassuringly.

-:-

When Noah steps out from the bathroom, still drying his hair from the shower, the house smells strongly of something…different. A smell that is unnatural to Noah’s nose, but also smells so unbelievably _real_. Nothing like the artificial smells normally produced for houses. Noah pads downstairs in his too-big sweatpants and thick socks, eyebrows raised.

He finds James in the living room, couch shoved out of the way. He’s sitting on the floor with his feet crossed, arms folded loosely. He has some kind of container in front of himself, streams of white smoke coming out.

“What is that?” Noah asks silently, almost not daring to raise his voice enough to be heard. James smiles, but doesn’t open his eyes or move. “Incense,” he answers, “A perk of believing in the AllMother”

“Oh,” Noah says, not sure of how to react. He’s never prayed much to the Universe himself, just a few Muttered Blessings before potential adoptions. He still couldn’t understand how the military let James go exploring—him believing the way he did. Unbelievers of the Universe had no rights to its pleasures; everyone knew that. And James had still applied to the military and started exploring. Even if he put a single, small creation over the Universe itself.

Noah didn’t know what kind of punishment James would get in his next life, seeing as his unbelief would place him on the wrong shoulder of the Universe. Noah felt some kind of pity at that—the fact that James maybe never would be reincarnated into such a great life again; all because of some misled beliefs. But he won’t say anything about it, not when he’s been told how Terreans usually respond to such attempts at help. Instead, he sends up some silent Muttered Blessings for James and hopes his help will salvage his rebirth.

“That smell—it’s one of the last memories of the AllMother,” James’s voice cuts into Noah’s deteriorating thoughts, “Apparently, this is how dirt and earth would smell after heavy rain, isn’t that amazing?”

“I guess,” Noah answers awkwardly. He walks slowly into the room, slowly sinking down next to James.

It smells good, he can admit, calming. With Anastasia’s artificial…everything, it’s difficult to know what earth would smell like in rain, since it doesn’t even rain on Anastasia and earth itself is hard to come by outside the factories and research labs. If this is what Terreans get, Noah isn’t surprised so many got fooled to wrongful beliefs.

It’s midday now, which means James will be praying to the AllMother, instead of her two children. Terrenan, they call her—the creator of all of humanity. Noah’s teacher had frowned when she’d told his class about it, her distaste over being forced to teach wrongful beliefs to children clear. This is why Noah doesn’t particularly know anything about the Mother beyond that.

James sits still for a while, just sighing now and then. Noah doesn’t know how long Terrean prayers usually last and can’t really tell if James is drawing out the process as long as possible to get some peace and quiet. Drawing out the process…

Noah jumps up, excitement burning in his veins. “Sorry, I just have to…” he trails off to James before sprinting upstairs. When he reaches his room, he has his holo-pad up in seconds. He starts drawing.

Fifteen minutes later, he has drawings for completely new, fully functional self-sustained emergency turbines done. His breath is barrelling through his throat and lungs, shaking his body. He’d done it. He’d really _done_ it. Of course, the military officials will never accept blueprints from an orphan, but still… It’s nice to know that he, at least, has some sort of value, no matter how insignificant it would seem to the Universe.

An idea pops into his head; escape pods. It’ll probably just take a few hours to draw up. But James will wonder where he is by now. And Noah does not, by any means, want to trouble the man any more than he already has.

Noah taps the holo-pad black and puts it away, righting his messy hair and calming his rushing breath. Then he walks downstairs again, offering James an apologetic smile as they meet in the hallway. Even if James is done praying, the strong smell is still hanging in the air and it’s starting to get overwhelming. Luckily, James opens a window when he reaches the kitchen, and fresh air flows into the room.

“I’m just telling you now that I want to speak about something important with you over dinner,” James says casually, “If you’re up for it”

Noah can see what James is doing—preparing him for a troubling situation while still giving him a way out of it. “It’s fine, we can talk,” Noah replies, because he can’t stop thinking about how disappointed James will be if he says no. At least he has time to prepare for it.

“Great! Dinner’s at four, so go back to whatever I pulled you away from,” James says, activating the holo-pad on the dinner table and pulling up some confidential files. Noah startles, before he blushes deeply and nods. “Thank you,” he mutters to a smiling James. He’d known that Noah’s head was somewhere else entirely—such a strange thing to notice. Still, Noah runs upstairs again immediately and pulls out new blueprints to start.

The amount of concentration it takes almost puts a stop to those worrying thought of what James wants to talk about. What James may be hiding. What Noah might be subjected to. Noah shakes his head and starts drawing.

Better not worry; it’ll just make everything worse.

Noah’s stomach is tying itself into the most complicated knot as he walks down the stairs around 4. After he’d gotten done with the escape pods his mind had been reeling, and he couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything but the proceeding conversation. He’d paced endlessly; wiped his sweaty palms over and over again; buried his face in the pillows and screamed. None of it had helped, truly.

Whatever James has put on the table smells amazing, warm and inviting. Noah slides down in a chair, fingers trembling. James has made something that smells amazing, but Noah has no idea what it is. Still, he knows that it’s rude to pick at one’s food, even if one has doubts about the tastes, so Noah takes a considerate piece and stuffs it in his mouth. 

He ends up coughing desperately for a few minutes, while James watches amusedly. It was far spicier than he’d expected.

James quickly turns far more serious, though, and stops eating altogether.

“I’ve been requested to join the next expedition,” he starts carefully, “To the Far Wastes. Mostly mapping territory, but also a bit of non-human contact and sample-collecting. It’s not a chance that comes often”

Noah swallows and clenches his hand. There it was. The reason Mama Lydiah had looked so smug. There’s no way that James will bring Noah along with him—he’s probably not even allowed to.

_It’s fine_, Noah tries to reason to himself, _You can probably stay here by yourself until James comes back._ But that is a _ridiculous _idea, driven only by desperation. No foot in reality. He swallows; heavily. Dares to flick his eyes up to James. The man’s smiling in that way that makes one feel calm. He extends an arm out over the table.

“I know it’s a bit early to ask this of you, to even expect you to be comfortable with it, but I pulled a few strings, even if it was terribly late,” he says as he brings a paper down on the table, “Fame, for all its terribleness, can work its wonders”

It’s a form.

On top, a title in big, black letters.

** _Extra Family Resident — Washington XV-347 — Exploration 890: Far Wastes, Pandora cluster_ **

“I’d like to bring you along, Noah”

Noah gets food stuck in his throat again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! Thnx for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this Hugo Award-winning work! :)


End file.
